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The wind in my face on a hot day
While I strain and swear
Wrench in hand
Making repairs on those things
That seem ever broken
Because my wallet doesn’t weigh enough
To spread the wealth
The salty sweat as it touches my lips
The water that tempts and taunts
The icy brew that lightens the load however briefly
The sun behind the limbs
Of the giant pecan tree
That gave up the last of its nuts and leaves
Long ago
Yet still provides
Even in its final days
Shade and shelter
The sound of music
Through the abused speakers
Of a radio new before cell phones
The phone I tap with fingers calloused
From too many hours
Of work
And play
It’s bright screen repeating my words back to me
Scribing the love I feel
Always
That makes me smile or cry
That drives the words that escape me
While listening to songs I don’t know the words to
Wrenching on broken things under the shade
Of love itself
Simple

There’s a lot of nonsense that goes along with numbers. Especially repeating numbers. Among the nonsense are some very few truths.

Truth #1 – 3:33 am is too damn early to wake up – I don’t care who or where you are, this, I believe, comes as close to a universal truth as I can imagine. Right next to “stubbing your barefoot toe on a raised piece of sidewalk sucks ass”.

Truth #2 – 3:33 am is the witching hour – This truth is best taken with a grain of salt or, if you have high blood pressure, with a graham cracker and a glass of goat milk – Historically, it is the time when the veil between worlds is the thinnest. When dreams are best shared or traveled. When the spirits of other planes are most easily contacted. Don’t ask me why this is, I have never found a reasonable explanation, but it is the time when most serious occultists do their most serious work. It’s when I do my own work, like this piece, and other… stuff.

Truth #3 – Waking at specific times or noticing specific times when glancing at a clock is a way for the subconscious (read: NOT angels) to pass messages to the conscious. We make connections to these inferences and interpretations in our waking hours and our subconscious, which is a far better keeper of time than we give it credit for, tells us, “Hey, Nimrod, look at the clock. It’s 11:11. Time for a change. Maybe get off yer ass and follow through on your workout goal or something useful, eh?”

I get that number a lot.

So here it is, 3:33 am, or it was when I first woke anyway, now it’s like 5:20, which is 4:20 somewhere, which is a whole different number, and to be honest I’m a little confused because I have never (consciously) agreed on the meaning of 3:33 so I have no idea what message my subconscious is sending me except this: It’s too damn early.

“News”
Is a modern thing
Based on gossip
And lies
Sent on waves unseen
Carried by sponsors
Who want me to buy
The product they proclaim
Will make my life better
So long as I listen
Or watch
With horror
The news designed
To modify my thoughts

So I don’t

I don’t need anyone to tell me
“The world is ending!”
If that day comes
I won’t need to be told at all
Not at all

Instead I create this place
Where there is no hate
Where there are no lies
No commercials
No sponsors
No hate
No one to tell me “You must”
“You should”
“You can’t”
Only Love
And the intentions of Love
Because nothing else matters

Though I walk alone in this golden field I feel you occupy the spaces I have created for you in my heart. I reach out to you with my soul and find you waiting. Always there. Always ready.

As the sun rises I see you revealed in front of me, a play of light on the morning mist transformed by the magic of this day and this place into you. There and not there. A welcome vision that begs me “follow.”

You dance playfully ahead of me, leading me through this field of gold that sways in the light breeze as if to an unheard song. It is the song of the Universe. A song in which we play a line of perfect harmony.

You wear sandles to protect your feet as you skip and run ahead of me but you are dressed as you were before we made love last night. Panties that cling to your beckoning moisture. A sleeveless top that exposes your soft belly that invites my kisses and celebrates the curve of your soft breasts. You are more beautiful than the rising sun, more alluring than a cool spring on a hot day, more graceful than the birds that sing your name, more inspiring than this field of dreams I follow you through.

You turn your head to me and smile or hop backwards as you laugh and call out to me then dance ahead again as you sing songs with outrageous lyrics and laugh with innocence at the filthy words that conjure sensual delight. You are drunk on passion. Filled with an enticing energy that can not be ignored. Why would even consider ignoring you? Never!

You are a nymph sent by the goddess intent on seducing me with song and dance. You are goddess possessed. You are playful sprite. Your laughter is a siren call that I am bound by.

But in this mystic island caught outside time, there are no shores to crash upon. No hidden pond to drown in. No tricks of delight.

Here I become satyr to your nymph as I follow you. I long to take you here, now and forever in this sacred place. Though there is no mythical altar to offer my devotion I worship upon the altar of your heart which I carry always with me and where a blazing fire always rages.

You reach the highest point then slow, your song now turned to a sweet lull, a hum, you turn to me, head lowered with a knowing smile, lips parting, eyes locked on mine, arms raised slightly from your sides, palms facing me, fingers spread, welcoming my tender embrace as I step into you, pull you close, and whisper the words, “Soon, My Love.”

I stand there for an eternity. Not wanting to leave this place. Wanting only to feel your skin against mine, our lips brushing, hands touching and tracing each other, hearts beating as one, souls joined, but the morning grows late.

I open my eyes and the field, though just a field, is now something more. Something truly magic. Though you were never here your presence remains. I can feel the warmth of you even now and hear those words you said as I watched you fade away as if they were a spell, “Yes, Darling. Soon.”